


Cold Fire

by tielan



Category: Chuck (TV), Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Firefly, James Bond (Craig movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefly Verse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts and ends with uncertainty and a death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/gifts).



> Okay, so, whoops, the archive went live a little earlier than I expected and so the story was not polished as nicely as I liked. Sorry. It's fixed now.

It starts and ends with uncertainty and a death.

* * *

 

The girl stands alone by the pauper’s grave, blue eyes in a pretty face, sombre in the foggy grey of the day, and the knowledge that she is alone.

Conversations drift through the fog, hushed.

_…the Guild Madrassa is recruiting…would never make Companion…feed and clothing…a hard worker…need a new hand about the kitchens…_

Maria listens to them plan her future and doesn’t say anything.

At eight, she already knows there is no safety in the ‘verse but that which she carves out for herself.

* * *

 

“Commander Carter says you think cool in a crisis,” says the man interviewing her without looking up from the newssheet he’s reading.

The silence invites a response, but Maria knows better than that. Even when the man looks up and fixes her with a single dark eye.

“Shy?”

“Quiet.”

“Good. You’ll take the berth down the end of the hall. You’ve come out of the Ariel academy, we keep evening hours. Get Phil to give you the briefing, and we’ll log you with some atmo time on our way to Panshijie.”

Maria blinks. Panshijie?

He notices. Of course he notices. “You have a question?”

“Coulson said we were headed for Osiris.”

“By way of Panshijie.”

* * *

 

“We’re outclassed and we know it,” says the lawman...well, law _woman_ , grimacing at the damage wrought in the last confrontation with the bandit gang. “Captain Vimes has some military background; he was the one who said we weren’t a match for this firepower.”

“GN-48s,” Maria says, shading her eyes against the bright sun. “They shouldn’t haven’t been released to the public market yet.”

“I don’t suppose you have the GN-49s?”

Maria’s mouth quirks. “We might. But I think we should avoid upping the ante.”

As to that, Coulson has a few ideas.

Maria was trained in standard military techniques at the Academy on Ariel. Catapults that shower rocks down on an engagement zone, sub-hearing noise-makers, and using a herd of wild pigs to soften up the bandits before going in were nowhere in the book.

It’s a lesson for Maria as much as it is for the bandits.

“Interesting ideas you people have,” Overwood says afterwards while they’re tallying up the butcher’s bill. “They teach this stuff in the military these days?”

“Not anywhere I’ve attended,” Maria admits, not denying that she’s military trained. There’s no point, and Sergeant Overwood isn’t a fool.

“Ariel, right?” Blue eyes study her.

“Does it show?”

“You’ve got the smell of it on you.”

Maria blinks. She has the smell of it on her?

Overwood shrugs as she rubs her shirtsleeve across her face. “They issue the cadets with lemon soap at Ariel. Carrot still orders his out from the Academy.” She glances around, and her brow creases. “Nobby!”

“Ain’t taking nothing they don’t need no more!”

“Captain’ll only make you give it back.”

Nobby’s face creases in what Maria imagines is a grin, but he keeps on going through the pockets of the dead.

“Interesting people you work with,” Maria notes, her gaze going from the little thief to the red-faced man who looks like he’d much rather be behind a desk, skimming the dwarf whose attack move was basically to cut the banditti off at the knees, and the giant brute who moves like an avalanche, and coming to rest on the shining specimen of masculinity who graduated three years ahead of Maria at the Academy and whom she never noticed.

Angua Overwood grins, the wolfish expression somehow perfectly fitting a face that wouldn’t look out of place in a Companion House on Sihnon.

* * *

 

There’s a man waiting for them at the Osiris docks. He eyes Maria with the same degree of suspicion with which she eyes him.

“This is the newbie?”

“This is the bird?”

Coulson smiles – the inscrutable smile. “Clint Barton, meet Maria Hill. Be nice to each other, you’re neighbours.”

At first Barton’s idea of being a good neighbour involves listening to ear-shattering rock when Maria’s trying to sleep. Maria’s revenge is to salt his snacks with an emetic, slowly upping the dosage until he can’t eat anything without needing to relieve himself straight after.

Fury eyes them, but doesn’t comment. Blake’s patrician nose starts to wrinkle anytime Barton walks past. Hand asks Maria more than once if this is really necessary. Sitwell outright tells them they’re being idiots.

And then they’re caught gathering intel at Eavesdown Docks.

They don’t talk about the two weeks before they’re rescued. Ever.

But the first night back on the ship, she climbs out of her bed and scratches at the door of Clint’s silent room. When the door slides open, he steps aside for her to enter, closes the door behind her, and hands her an earbud.

They fall asleep to the sound of ear-shattering rock and the warmth of someone else.

* * *

 

“You don’t like me.”

Of all the galleys in all the ships in the ‘verse… This is not a conversation Maria wants to have. Unfortunately, Natasha Romanoff does not believe in beating around the bush.

“What gave it away?”

“The way steam comes out your ears anytime Clint looks at me.”

“We’re friends.” Nothing came of their sharing a bed – it was comfort and proximity and trust, nothing else. It’s never been anything else – they’ve never _wanted_ it to be anything else.

That doesn’t mean that Romanoff’s arrival isn’t annoying. As much because the young woman is a perfect _everything_ as because of Clint’s interest in her.

“You’re possessive.”

“You’ve never had anyone you cared enough about to be a little possessive?”

The pause is surprising. Then Romanoff shrugs. “I care about Clint.”

“Are you going to be possessive about him?”

“Only in bed.”

“More than I needed to know.”

“Just as long as it stays that way.”

Maria returns her gaze to Coulson’s book about heroes from the Separatist Wars. “Is that all?” She can feel Romanoff watching her with narrowed eyes, but she fixes her gaze on the pages and doesn’t look up until the other woman has left.

* * *

 

The Companion’s smile is meant to set her at ease. Maria wishes she didn’t know this because part of her is resenting the theatricality of it all.

“Is this really necessary?”

“It’s not necessary at all,” he says, pouring tea as the candlelight gleams off his hair – a lion’s gold mane. “But when was the last time you did something that wasn’t?”

She can’t remember the last time she relaxed – really relaxed. The murky underbelly of politics is getting murkier, and they’ve been running themselves ragged trying to keep their finger on the pulse of things. Maria needed some downtime, although she was thinking of heading out to see Peggy.

He smiles – a brief, knowing smile that bottoms out her belly and sets her pulse racing – and offers her the tea, fragile china in strong and graceful hands.

They drink tea. He offers snacks. They talk of the political situation on Ariel, and he listens to her grumble and asks questions that show he’s been hearing her, too. By the time he leans in to kiss her, Maria is more than willing to let the assignation progress the way these things usually go.

Afterwards – quite a long time afterwards – Maria asks why he accepted her offer.

“If that’s allowed,” she adds, reclining on the too-soft cushions, her modesty preserved with a simple silk robe that probably costs more than a week’s pay. As it was, she applied to him on a whim and a ridiculously low bid.

“All things are permissible,” he murmurs, long-limbed and gracefully muscular in black boxer shorts, “although not everything is beneficial. Are you sure you want to know?”

“All knowledge is worth having.” It’s one of Peggy’s quotes.

His gaze drifts down her face like a caress, lingers on her mouth. “I liked your smile.”

“My smile?”

“Yes. When your colleague interrupted you while you were doing the interview video, you grinned at him.” His expression is like a secret, tender and knowing. “So serious and proper, and then you bared your teeth in challenge. I liked that.”

Maria’s surprised. And kind of pleased, too. It’s nice to be admired as a woman for being a little bit feral rather than in spite of it. So when she walks off the ship the next morning, she feels pretty damn good as she passes her assignation’s brother – also tall, blond, and a Companion.

“Was he satisfactory?”

“Better than.”

“Good.” He grins, knowing charm and wicked laughter – if his brother was tender, this one is teasing. “So, next time, hire both of us.”

* * *

 

Maria may not be able to pass herself off as anything, the way Romanoff can and does, but she can play a few roles with relative ease.

A couple of women sitting down for a lunch in an expensive Ariel restaurant are nothing unusual. She and Sarah exchange empty-headed nothings while casually scoping out the room each way and setting their Assistants to watch for listeners.

“How’s work?”

“Busy. Getting busier. Constant meetings – a lot of politics involved. Not my forte, but Beckman wants us involved.”

“Politics isn’t usually up Cobalt Intersect and Associates alley.”

“No.” Sarah glances up from her wine glass, her expression sober. “But we’ve been going through a lot of sales and ownership data lately.”

“And?”

“You heard about the Blue Sun conglomerate?”

“Everyone’s heard about that.” A group of companies from the border worlds have banded together to leverage their political power against the core worlds. It’s an uneasy alliance, but it holds – and has been blocking some of the more avaricious core world corporations from taking over the border markets. “Beckman’s worried about Blue Sun?”

Sarah shakes her head. “Chuck is.”

Maria’s brows rise. She’s met Chuck Bartowski; he’s not someone she’d expect to be a portender of doom and gloom. However, he _does_ have a nearly uncanny ability to make accurate predictions out of a welter of apparently unrelated data, care of some kind of an accident that happened a few years back. “He’s been looking at the data?”

“He thinks we’re on the edge of another war.”

* * *

 

Luck was with her in the Highgate markets, she turned at someone’s shout and the knife intended for her heart only sliced across her ribs.

“And Eve changed the sheets just this morning,” James says as she perches on the edge of the unmade bed and he opens the bottle of brandy. Eve tosses him a facecloth from the bathroom and in short order, Maria’s top is open and the shallow graze is being cleaned – and hurting like all hell.

“It’s going to need stitches,” Eve says, not without some sympathy. “Better take some for your insides.”

Maria takes a swig as James takes needle and thread, kneels between her legs, and starts sewing.

“Can you talk about it?”

“Someone’s buying out Blue Sun,” Maria manages. “But quietly – very quietly. Leases and properties, mostly. Work contracts. And other things. Some accidental deaths not so accidental. Ever heard of Ola Patrice?”

“Mercenary,” Eve says, preparing bandage strips. “Used to be for hire, although these days, he’s serving a single master. We haven’t been able to find out whom, exactly.”

“‘Tiago’. Might be a person, might be an organisation – couldn’t tell—nngh!” She glares at James as he slips the needle through her skin again. “Are you enjoying this?”

His gaze flicks up and over her – a look no less appreciative for being brisk. “Not as much as I usually do between a woman’s thighs.”

Eve turns a chuckle into a cough.

Maria huffs with laughter, then catches herself at the sharp stab of pain and takes another swig of brandy.

* * *

 

They wait for Phil at Londinium Major, and his expression is grim when he comes in.

The debriefing is short, but public – in the galley, no closed doors.

“Stane set it all up. The kidnapping, the takeover, the attack. Awkwardly done – Stane’s a businessman, not a strategist, and the kidnappers were more interested in bargaining than killing.” He rubs a hand across his face with a grimace. “But the fact that Stane thought he could pass this off as being Blue Sun…”

“So Hill’s contact at Cobalt Intersect was right,” Clint says, glancing Maria’s way. “Blue Sun is being set up for a fall.”

“A quiet one at first – underground takeover – and then something bigger.” Phil looks over at Fury. “You heard about the Party for Unification?”

“Hard not to these days,” Fury notes, frowning as he stares into space. “I don’t like it. Call me an old dog who doesn’t like the idea of new tricks, but we’ve been doing fine without this whole One Government For Humanity _pìhuà_ ever since we got off Earth-that-was. Why are they agitating now?”

Victoria frowns over the manicure she’s doing at the galley table – ‘Bitch Crimson’ is the advertised colour, like dried blood. “Because they’re starting to see the ‘verse as their oyster – with a whole lot of pearls just waiting to be harvested.”

“Maybe the question is what do they know that we don’t?” Jasper pushes his glasses up his nose and shrugs. “People don’t act without reason. We just might not understand their reasons.”

“Power,” Natasha says. “They want power over others – to control the worlds as they see fit.”

“Or they think they can make the ‘verse better that way,” Blake grimaces.

Fury’s watching her, brow arched. “Hill? Going to add to the pile?”

Maria thinks about declining, then remembers Sarah’s words – _Chuck thinks we’re on the cusp of another war_ – and decides otherwise. “Why can’t it be all of that?”

* * *

 

Maria picks up her messages on Greenleaf, via a courier ship contact.

Not all messages can be sent by the Cortex; some things are needed in hardcopy, and there are tiny courier ships that dock here, there, and everywhere.

“Couple of hot ones,” Tendo remarks as he hands the slips over. “Been busy kicking hornets’ nests?”

“Why would I need to as long as you’re around?” Maria glances over the message from Phil asking a clarification question about her dealings with the younger Odinsson and flips to the next one. Halfway through, she stops skimming it and looks more closely – what the hell has Stark done now?

“Something up?”

“No,” she says, her mouth operating on automatic before she catches herself. She’s known Tendo for years – ever since that first season Fury had her aboard _Sword & Shield_ when she ran messages and interference all over the ‘verse and befriended a cocky young engineer while standing around the docks on Ariel. “What do you know about the Party for Unification?”

“That’s the One Government crowd, right? Standardisation of services. Less red tape. Bureacrats but, hey, someone’s gotta do the work. Seems like a pretty good idea – things can get kind of rough out here, and sometimes a little unifying order would be helpful.”

“You don’t worry about one group of people having all the information about everyone?”

“They already have all our information somewhere – the planetary databases are available with the right accesses: births, deaths, and every time someone takes a shit. This would just be getting it all organised for better processing. It’s out of our hands, anyway. The bigwigs will end up deciding how it all turns out.” Tendo shrugs, tilts his head. “What’s it to you?”

Maria contemplates what she knows about the politics behind it all, the wheelings and dealings behind the Blue Sun corporation, and the dangers of all that information in the hands of the less scrupulous. “Just wondering – I’ve heard a few things around.”

“Uhuh.” Tendo eyeballs her when she doesn’t reveal more. “Good or bad?”

“Oh, just things.”

“Maria.”

She glances up as she flips to the last message in the group and smiles to ease the sting of her nonchalance. “I was born cynical. I don’t see anything good coming from...it...”

It’s a short message. Brief and to the point. And a bit of a surprise.

“Bad news?” Tendo asks.

“No.” She reads the message more carefully. “No. Just an old friend who wants to catch up.”

* * *

 

St Albans is about as cold and chilly as Maria’s been told it is, and by the time she reaches the small farmstead and knocks, she’s ready to give Peggy an earful.

The door opens.

“I hope you realise I wouldn’t have made the trip—” A moment later she has her laser pistol out and pointed at the chest of the man standing in the doorway. “Where’s Peggy?”

“In here, Maria,” comes the thin, thready tones from behind the curtain. “You can stop pointing the gun at Steve. He’s safe.”

Looking at the muscle on Steve, and the way he measures her from behind baby blues, Maria isn’t so sure about that. And when she gets a good look at him by the lights of Peggy’s cabin, she nearly reaches for her weapon again.

Maria’s read Phil’s book – the paper one with the broken spine and the worn page edges. She – and every kid at the Academy – knows about Steve Rogers, hero of the Separatist Wars seventy years past. If her eyes aren’t kidding her, this man is Steve Rogers’ dead ringer from seventy years ago. If her ears aren’t kidding her, Peggy just called him by her lost love’s name.

But Steve Rogers is dead – died completing his final mission, even before the Separatist Wars ended. And even if he was alive, he should be over a hundred years old – older, even, than Peggy.

The man watching her with his hands tucked in his pockets isn’t any older than she is.

* * *

 

He has all the right memories, all the right answers. He knows all the things he should know and if he’s feigning confusion at the state of the world, he should go into holovids.

“But you don’t know where you’ve been or what happened to you?”

“I’ve told you,” he says, hands folded, expression grim. “They found me in a farm paddock ten days ago, out in the middle of St Albans.”

“Where Peggy just happens to live.”

“My last mission was over St Albans. I was shot down in atmo, and had to put down in the middle of a storm. And then I don’t remember anything until I woke up in a farmhouse near Benleigh.”

“Nothing?”

“No.”

“No dreams? No nightmares? No vague recollections of being dragged somewhere and dumped?”

“Maria,” Peggy interrupts her interrogation. “He is who he says he is. Down to the scars.”

Her brows rise. Peggy just smiles. Rogers looks down at the table, his fair skin going softly pink.

Maria huffs and sits back in the chair. “Phil is going to be _stratospheric_ about this.”

* * *

 

As it turns out, it’s not Phil’s reaction to Steve Rogers’ return that kicks up the dust.

They get the genetic tests back from Banner, match them up against the historical records Victoria pulls off the Cortex. But while pulling the records from the Cortex, she comes up with a whole lot of other stuff which nobody’s seen before.

Until Natasha glances over at the record and goes stock-still.

“There are things I’ve never told you. Any of you.” She folds her fingers, then flattens her hands on the table, staring at her nails. “You always knew I wasn’t...”

“Normal?” Maria offers dryly when the silence stretches too long.

For a brief moment, Natasha smiles. It fades fast, but for the space of seconds it was there. “I was sent to an Academy where they taught me and other kids like me to fight.”

“Your not-so-secret ninja skills,” Maria notes, ignoring Clint’s glare, Fury’s frown. They’re in the galley, around the wood grain table-top that cost more than a re-outfit of _Sword and Shield_ ’s cockpit – all of them that are on board – Rogers, too. “And?”

“In addition to the training and learning there were...medical things. Injections. Tests. It’s fuzzy. I don’t recall all of it.” She makes a noise like a huff of disbelief. “I remember there were tests, but not what happened in them.”

“Like you were conditioned against remembering?”

Phil looks at Rogers. “There’s nothing about that in the textbooks.”

“There wouldn’t be.” Rogers puts his hands on the desk and exhales. “I got two injections – they never said exactly what they were. And I only got the standard soldier training. But there _were_ tests – I—I knew someone who went through them—later, after. But when they ran the initial injections on me, they needed soldiers more than they wanted test subjects.”

“Or they thought they could make more like you,” Fury muses.

“Pity they couldn’t,” Victoria notes, then smiles, eyeing Rogers off.

Clint stirs, drawing attention away from Rogers’ blush. “One of the rumours in the undergrounds is that that Blue Sun have been experimenting with pharma for soldiers: mostly stimulants and adrenalizers. But Banner thinks the original recipe was taken from Stark Industries.”

Maria catches Fury’s eye and sees the understanding there, based on the news she’s been bringing back from their contacts for months now.

If Blue Sun has drugs for soldiers in a war, and the fight across governments escalates to a war – as seems likely, then it’s only a matter of time before Core world politics takes Blue Sun out of the picture.

* * *

 

Maria hears the footsteps coming down the corridor long before he steps through the galley door. “Do you even sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Just not lately.” He sits down opposite her without asking if he can. Blue eyes study her face, and she schools her expression to careful neutrality and returns the stare without flinching. “You’re worried about Blue Sun.”

“Among other things.” At the slight quirk of his brows, Maria leans back in the chair and hooks an arm over the chair back. “They have a lot of power – more than I like, really. But they’re the only counterbalance to the economic powerhouses of the Core worlds. It’s all a system of checks and balances, and they’re the check _and_ the balance.”

“And without them?”

“You just came out of a war,” she tells Rogers. “If the Party for Unification get their way – if Blue Sun can’t stop them - it looks like you might be going right back in.”

* * *

 

Sergeant Overwood has become Lieutenant Overwood and the Panshijie Planetary Guard has swelled in numbers and influence.

“We’re seeing hints of unrest here and there,” Angua says as they move through the busy markets of Panshijie’s biggest city – a sprawling crowd of streets and laneways, stone houses and shanties, with all humanity crowded in amongst each other, rubbing elbows without remorse. “The syndicates are getting bolder – both Blue Sun, the united backers, and the independents. Bigger weapons are turning up during raids and skirmishes. Mass damagers, heavy laser gunneries – the kind that were only seen around the Core Worlds.”

“Military grade weapons?”

“Some of them. We confiscate them when we find them, but we’re not authorised to use them,” Angua added, correctly interpreting Maria’s twist of the mouth. “Commander Vimes believes the Planetary Guard is there to keep the peace, not to fight wars.”

“Are you stockpiling?”

“Destroying. The commander also doesn’t believe in leaving temptation to hand.”

Again, Maria approves the sentiment, even if she’s worried about what that might mean if humanity goes to war.

They pause at the entryway to the Planetary Guard HQ and look back at the morass of humanity in the city. Most of them are happily oblivious to anything that’s happening on the Core, far far away from their everyday concerns. That’ll change if the Party for Unity have their way.

“Do you think it’s going to come down to it? War?

She wants to say ‘no’. She really does. But the fallout between the Odinssons is big, and Stark has been shaking things up like a planetary remodeller in the wake of his kidnapping; all the news out of Cobalt Intersect Associates and Morrigan Intel Five is worrying, and Maria’s seen and dodged enough rabble rousers on her way out to Panshijie to suspect that things are starting to get big. “I think it’s pretty likely.”

Angua growls in her throat. “You’d think the ‘verse would be big enough for us all.”

Maria grimaces. “For some people, the ‘verse is not enough.”

* * *

 

She opens one eye when he puts the first plate a little to the side – fried horseradish cake. A moment later, she blinks when the second plate is put down, further out, red bean buns. But when he puts the bowl down in front of her, she sits up and drags her hands through her hair. “I thought you were cooking breakfast.”

“This is breakfast.”

“This is breakfast, lunch, _and_ dinner.” But she takes the spoon Rogers offers her, and starts on the rice gruel. Sprinkled with preserved egg and dried meat floss, it’s tasty and filling and just what she needs.

“Did they even feed you on the way home?”

“Half-rations,” Maria said between spoonfuls, pitching her voice to soothe the angry note in his. “The only way they’d carry me.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t space you.” Then, more reluctantly, “Did you find anything?”

“A whole lot of nothing – and a children’s song.” Which is why she took the ride back to the Core on half-rations – only to find that Fury is out and won’t be back until sunset.

“A children’s song?”

“ _London Bridge is falling down._ ”

* * *

 

Out of all the planets in the ‘verse, Londinium is one that Maria has never visited. She’s never had cause.

So she’s never seen the Houses of Parliament, the Congress Auditorium, the Offices of Government – not in the flesh. And now she never will.

“Four thousand people unaccounted for, presumed dead,” she tells Natasha in the wave. “The...” She checks the data scrolling across the Cortex, “The Independent People’s Republic has claimed responsibility and nobody’s challenging them—”

“You’re getting a message out to the people—?”

“Already done. Is Barton on a transport out?” The silence on the other end of the line is telling. Maria pauses in the midst of her scrollling through the lists of the known dead or missing. “Nat, tell me he’s on a transport out.”

“Odinsson hired him for the flight in,” comes the grim reply. “And no, he wasn’t paying hard attention to what was going on in the cabin, but he thinks he knows where Loki’s gone to ground.”

Maria wants to grind her teeth. “And you’re going in to watch his back.”

“Yes. Sort of. We all are.”

She exhales very carefully, wondering if she wants to know who ‘we’ are. She’s just decided against it, when footsteps at the cockpit door turn her from the Cortex connection. About to report Natasha’s announcement about Clint, the words clog her mouth when she sees his face. “Sir?”

“Coulson was down there.”

* * *

 

By the time Fury dispatches her to bed, she’s wound tight as a compression coil.

The last forty-eight hours have been hell. Between trying to follow Clint and Natasha and the others who went on their little mission as avenging angels, taking waves from their contacts all over the ‘verse and letting them know the intel about Loki and his little army of troublemakers, and then getting the confirmation from down on the ground – Phil was in the explosion.

Maria stands outside her room and isn’t sure she can face going to bed. Lying in the dark and thinking about what they could have done, what they didn’t do, if they could have stopped it.

 _London Bridge is falling down_ …

Down the corridor, a door slides open.

She looks at him. He looks back. Then he steps back. Maria looks at the space between him and the door, at the bed beyond him.

It feels like a thousand paces, although it’s no more than eight.

He feels like safety and security, and all the things she’s fought for other people to have.

For a little while, he makes her believe she can have that too.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There was more. I ran out of time.  
> 2\. The Pacific Rim section of the 'verse is largely hijacked from saellys and quigonejinn's Pacific Rim/Firefly fusion story [Heroes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1011219).  
> 3\. There was more. I RAN OUT OF TIME.  
> 4\. Yes, that is Raleigh Becket, and yes, Yancy is proposing a threesome with Maria.  
> 5\. There was more. I SERIOUSLY RAN OUT OF TIME.  
> 6\. 'Panshijie' is what you get when you type "disc world" into Google Translate. Cobalt Intersect & Associates spells CIA. Morrigan Intel Five is MI-5. Obvious Name Is Obvious.  
> 7\. I RAN OUT OF TIME. *sobs*


End file.
